The Four Inescapable Fates of Princes
by 10 of Spades
Summary: Bilbo Baggins had found Kili tolerable at best, and absolutely unbearable at worst. However, in the darkest of times an encounter with the dwarf prince in the throne room of Erebor will change everything.


Bilbo crept quietly through the halls of Erebor, happy to finally be out of everyone's way. The preparations for a stand-off between men and The Company was in full swing, and he had no desire to be around Thorin at such a time. The King Under the Mountain had become strange, different, his eyes always seeping with madness, their crystal blue coloring slightly dull, and oddly intense with the insanity that was gripping him. He cared only for the treasure within the hoard, never leaving it, rarely sleeping; obsessed. Bilbo had watched the other dwarves distance themselves from him, whispers of "dragon sickness" floating through the caverns. He had been terrified, though many of the other dwarves seemed to take it as a tragedy rather than madness. They all treated it as though it had been dealt with before. That is, not all of them. The brothers, the princes, had not been as content with the state of their uncle.

Bilbo continued wandering, making sure to keep careful note of where exactly he was going. He had gotten lost once before, having to call out for someone until Balin finally found him asleep in a pile of gold coins. The Company laughed for the first time in a while, though Thorin wasn't amused. Bilbo himself hadn't found it that funny either. Erebor was just so vast, and he wanted to explore all of it. His eyes wanted to swallow the grandeur whole; he couldn't get enough. But, such space and distraction came with danger. He could not lose his way again, and he could not get himself hurt. Dwalin had whispered to Balin the first night that the men camped outside their doors. "We will have to fight to keep the treasure. If we continue with the King's methods, we will have war." The thought of a battle made Bilbo's stomach do a somersault into the ground.

The route he was taking was one Bilbo had never been on before, though he recognized some of the rooms he was passing. Up ahead, the way he was walking opened up into another cavernous hall, larger than any he had seen. Bilbo had purposely saved this area for last. It seemed the most beautiful, the most impressive, and the best of all. He hadn't seen any of the other Company members venture towards it though, making him nervous that it was somehow off limits.

He scurried forward, pausing a moment to listen, and when he heard nothing, snuck towards the room again. It was only when he was at the mouth of the great chamber that he heard the sound of hard boots on polished floors. Bilbo screeched to a complete halt, skidding on the smooth marble floors, petrified. The journey to Erebor had destroyed his sense of security, he had discovered. The simple noises that he disregarded back in the Shire had become a sign of hazard that he would not ignore. His breathing quickly became shallow and quick-packed, his fingers barely lacing the hilt of his sword. Bilbo's other hand slipped into his pocket, where his skin brushed against the cool metal of his ring.

The silence was worse than the sound itself. Now that the jolt was over with Bilbo simply stood there, the knot in his stomach slowly growing tighter and tighter. After what seemed like an eternity he took a step forward.

And found himself directly in the line of fire of a bow.

The shock caused the hobbit to pull out his sword so sharply and suddenly, that it tumbled out of his grip, falling on to the floor and sliding away from him. Bilbo bristled, both at his own stupidity and at the grinning face that now faced him.

"Nice try Master Boggins, though it appears that you had a little trouble with unsheathing your sword." Bilbo took a deep breath in, closing his eyes, before regaining his composure. He had found it entirely necessary in order to survive a conversation with the dwarf, who was slowly lowering his bow.

"The name is still Baggins," he responded tightly. "As it has been for the entirety of this adventure." Kili's luminescent smile grew wider, if possible, as he shook his head.

"I am very aware, but watching you get in a fuss is too irresistibly entertaining." Bilbo did not make eye contact, letting out his breath with a huff and returning his attention to the room around him. While he had never found Kili _unbearable_ it was true that the dwarven prince was more than mildly annoying on more than one occurrence. His reckless and mischievous attitude was just…irritating to a hobbit like himself.

"What is this place?" He asked, walking several paces away from Kili and further into the room. To be simply put, it was absolutely massive, a cavern of stone and gold accents, the marble the finest he had ever seen. Like most of Erebor, the floor below was covered in the mounds and piles of coin, goblets, and gems. However, this room was different, as in the center, a long dark marble walkway protruded from the wall, ending abruptly in the center at a large platform. On the platform was a gigantic chair made of stone, though even Bilbo knew this was no ordinary seat.

"Welcome, Master Burglar," Kili announced grandly, "to the throne room." Bilbo exhaled slowly as he stared hungrily at the spectacle. "That chair in the center being the throne of Durin, the throne that Thorin now possesses." Bilbo turned slightly at these words, for there was a strange edge of bitterness to them. He also found it odd that Kili called Thorin by his first name, as he and his brother usually referred to the king as "Uncle."

"Isn't it…your throne as well?" Bilbo pointed out, now looking the dwarf in the face. Kili smiled sadly, not making eye contact with Bilbo, but rather gazing at the throne itself.

"Me? I'm after Thorin and Fili. The throne of Durin is far from mine." Bilbo's eyebrows drew together in confusion.

"But, you're still a prince. It is your birthright, and you will inherit it." He paused. "Won't you?" Kili smirked, that familiar twinkle back in his dark eyes.

"I expected hobbits to be more familiar with the terms and conditions of dwarven ruling." Bilbo glanced at him, not understanding. Kili laughed, a hearty sound that echoed through the halls. "It was a joke, Boggins-"

"Baggins." He automatically corrected. Kili winked.

"It's not so hard to understand really." The dwarf began walking forward onto the path to the throne itself. "Rights to rule are passed down from generation to generation."

"Kili, I understand that. Don't be stupid."

"If you ask a stupid question, Master Hobbit, you get a stupid answer," reasoned the prince. "The right to rule is my birthright, but it is extremely unlikely I will ever inherit it."

"Why?" Bilbo was beginning to get frustrated. "Why is it that you wouldn't get to rule?" Not that he would ever really trust such a lighthearted and playful dwarf as a king. Kili shook his head slowly, thinking. After a moment, he looked back up, the mischief gone from his usually merry face.

"My brother and I used to argue a lot," he began. "Not in general, I mean, we got along very well, but there was a topic that always divided us."

"What-"

"You asked a question Master Bilbo, let me answer it!" The hobbit was taken aback by such an outburst. In fact, for a moment he was frighteningly reminded of Kili's uncle, dark hair flying, eyes intense and focused, voice as powerful as they came. "I'm-I'm sorry." Kili apologized in a softer tone. "I shouldn't have yelled."

"I shouldn't have interrupted," Bilbo pointed out. "Continue." Kili continued to walk towards the throne.

"We fought about it just recently as well. It's something my mother always used to scold us for. You see, my brother and I have very different views of my uncle, and of being prince or king. When I was younger, only around…fifty or so, I came up with the only outcomes I saw possible for a prince of Erebor. I called them, the Four Inescapable Fates of Princes." Bilbo had to stifle a laugh, as the title was so ridiculous and dramatic that only this dwarf could have come up with them.

"Why did your brother not agree with it?" Kili stopped walking, and turned to face Bilbo.

"Fili…is a good dwarf, and an even better brother, but…we weren't brought up the same way, he and I. He was made to be the king, taught how to rule and how to do what is right. From the moment he was born, he was the one who would take the throne after Thorin. He sees this place as something different than I do. He sees a kingdom, and I see a hoard of unnecessary gold piled up in order to impress a man wearing an arbitrary crown and in possession of a gem that means nothing." Bilbo shifted uncomfortably as the Arkenstone in his front pocket began to feel so much heavier.

"That isn't the opinion I thought you'd have," he commented, looking down at the sea of gold coins.

"My brother thinks I'm crazy. I came here because it is our true home, and because I can see how much it means to my uncle and the rest of them, but not because I want treasure. But nonetheless, I stand by the list I compiled those years ago, and it might be easier for you to understand the royal line of succession that way." Bilbo nodded.

"So, the first fate." Kili turned back towards the throne, striding towards it again.

"The first fate is to become king." Bilbo opened his mouth to point out that this option didn't seem so bad. Kili held up a hand. "Let me finish Burglar. While this might seem like a fine option, for Fili and I it is less so. Thorin may ascend the throne because he is the oldest and the most direct ancestor in the line of Durin, and his father is gone. However in order for Fili to take the throne Thorin must be indisposed. If I am to rule, then both my brother and uncle must be mad to the point of utter insanity, or dead." His voice broke slightly on the final word as they reached the throne itself.

"And let's say, you do become king, what's so bad about that?" Kili raised his eyebrows, before turning and dropping down onto the seat. "Kili!" Bilbo's eyes widened and his voice became low and urgent. "If Thorin sees you in that chair then he'll…" He trailed off, wondering if the King Under The Mountain was sick enough to harm his own kin.

"See? A king is to be feared, powerful, and look what it's done. Generation after generation of my family has had the dragon sickness. Now Thorin, of all people, has it as well. He is a much stronger dwarf than I am. If he falls victim, so will I. And I think we can both agree that the gold obsession is a fate worse than death. It's lavish misery Master Boggins." Bilbo looked at his feet, his guilt and sympathy for the dwarf overpowering his need to correct his name.

"If that's the first, then what's the second?" Surely not worse, he hoped. "But please, do get off the throne Kili. I doubt your uncle will think storytelling a proper use for it."

"Just because you said that," the prince joked, "I think I'll stay." He moved his position in the chair so that he now lay in the seat of it, with his shoulders and head on one armrest, and his knees and legs on the other. He was truly draped over Thorin's throne. Bilbo dropped his jaw in horror before the dwarf jumped out of it. "Just messing with you, that's all."

Bilbo cleared his throat, rather anxious to understand what fate came next.

"Oh," Kili's face fell, as if he remembered something he wished he'd forgotten. "Well, my brother and I are both pledged to serve Thorin and the crown and bloodlines of Durin with our lives. As a child I was pledged and bound to my brother. I cannot leave either of them under any circumstance." Bilbo looked baffled once again, so Kili changed his explanation. "So, let's say Fili is King Under The Mountain. Because of this, I am forbidden to leave him, unless under his orders, as it is my pledged duty not to leave him or the kingdom, and to defend them till last breath. In short, the second fate is to live out your life as a prince, never able to do what you want, go where you want," he paused, "love whom you want." The prince looked utterly dismayed at his own words. "Your whole existence is managed for you until the day you die." The hobbit stared at him in shock.

"I-I didn't know that was something that happened out of stories." Kili looked him over carefully.

"If you're getting upset then I can stop, I think you've grasped-"

"No, no," Bilbo whispered. "I'm fine. Keep going." Kili looked doubtful. "I insist." The dwarf paused, before warily continuing.

"The third fate is to decide to leave your life behind, and escape to do what you want. But, always keep in mind that you would be considered a traitor in the eyes of your kingdom and that you would probably never get to see your family and friends in the mountains again." Kili gazed back where they had come. Bilbo waited for the blow or twist that would make it worse, but it didn't come.

"And the final inescapable fate of a prince?" He asked, hushed, almost not wanting to hear the answer.

"That is to die on the battlefield." Kili finished, in a tone barely audible. "Be named a hero, hailed as someone who gave their life for the crown. Yet, in fifty or sixty years, no one will remember you." Bilbo reached out, resting a hand on the young dwarf's shoulder.

"I would remember you Kili. You're an impossible person to forget."

~:~

Bilbo sat on the stone, his knees pressed hard against his chest, his dirty face streaked with tears. They were taking Thorin away now, off his deathbed to be prepared for funeral.

The remainder of The Company was gathered around on the ice, most of them anyway, their heads bowed and faces also wet. Though the battle had been won, it had come with a cost, and Bilbo knew he wasn't the only one questioning whether or not it was worth it.

"We're short two." The voice belonged to Ori. He stood there, hugging his arms around himself, not talking to anyone in particular. "Fili and Kili. They're not here." Around him, the dwarves looked to Bilbo, though he dared not meet any of their eyes. Instead, he covered his mouth with his hand, covering a sob. When he was able to speak, it was broken.

"Fili is…Fili is…" The word he meant to say fell back into his throat, refusing to be spoken. He raised a shaking hand, pointing over to the base of the tower where the elder of the dwarf princes had been dropped. Tears leaked in droves now from his eyes as he watched Nori, Bifur, and Gloin run towards the indicated area. The rest accepted the fate of the prince, many of them closing their eyes. Another life lost. Another dwarf to be mourned.

"Where's Kili?" Oin asked, also shaky, his eyes glassy and beard twinkling with droplets of saltwater. The question slammed into Bilbo like a mace, and he suddenly found himself breathless.

"I-I don't know," he admitted, his eyes growing wide with shock. "I don't know" He was panicking now, realizing that the dwarf prince he had grown to care so much for in the past few days was most likely gone forever. "He was running for his brother. Up the stairs through the tunnel." The words poured faster and faster. "He was fighting. He was angry and…I don't know. I don't know! I was knocked out." Bofur and Dwalin exchanged a look, running toward the tower. Ori, stepped forward uncertainly, before taking a seat next to Bilbo. Around his trembling shoulder, he wrapped his arms.

"Don't worry Mister Bilbo. I'm sure he's all right. Kili…he's the good one at fighting. He's brave and strong. He'll be all right." Bilbo shook his head, as he watched the first three dwarves return, carrying a limp Fili between them.

"I'm not so sure." The fair-haired prince was laid on the ice, as they waited for word, hopefully a sign that his brother still lived.

Instead, they heard Dwalin's cry of anguish, followed by Bofur shouting.

Bilbo rose to his feet, brushing of Ori's arm, still shaking as he heard the dwarves coming back.

Next to his brother, they set down Kili's body.

Before Dwalin could even back away from the corpse Bilbo burst through, kneeling next to the slain prince. He reached down, hugging him tight around the shoulders, his cries of misery and tears overpowering all other noise. Kili was so cold, so pale, his skin so sallow, bright eyes closed, so still and stiff. Bilbo did not notice the red blood that was soaking his shirt alongside the splatters of black.

A firm grip formed around his arm, pulling his away, trying to drag him off. He fought, but the strength of dwarves exceeded the power of a hobbit.

"Please…" Bilbo sobbed, giving up and falling on his hands and knees on the ice. "Promise you'll remember him. He shouldn't be forgotten. I won't let him be forgotten."


End file.
